James Morris (1)Besprekingen

The British Empire at its zenith, the Diamond Jubilee of 1897 - the author does a great job describing the vast panorama of British activity in every corner of the world. No uncritical by any means, this sweeping history covers both the macro and the micro - the latter some tremendous crumbs of colour and context that bring the text to life. Personally, I particularly enjoyed the material about India, emphasising its critical importance to the Empire at large, as well as its considerable influence beyond its geographical boundries.½

This is a colourful, detail laden, paean of prose to the city of Venice - it may indeed be "the best book about Venice ever written" , I don't have the depth of knowledge to judge that, but I thoroughly enjoyed and was enormously entertained by Jan Morris's account.. It is by turns erudite, amusing, provocative and thought provoking - it certainly added to my education and leaves a lasting impression.

There are a few flashes of brilliant prose, and more than a few details about Venice that were new to me. But more of it is clumsily overwritten, Morris's desire for comprehensive coverage makes it a bit of a slog (and she still misses some of my favorite parts!), and, unfortunately, fair portions are very dated for modern Venice.

> In the first years of this century E. V. Lucas spent a month eating in every Venetian restaurant in turn, and decided that there was only one he wanted to visit a second time. I have tried about thirty, and shall not feel intolerably misused if denied re-entry to any of them.

La ciutat de Venècia ha interpretat successivament tots els papers de l’auca; camp de refugiats, potència marítima, comercial, financera i militar, gran prostíbul d’Europa i, actualment, parc temàtic global apte per a tots els pressupostos. El llibre ens acompanya durant els 1500 anys d’història, i ens deixa a les portes de l’última transformació.

Llegir aquest llibre el 2019 és encara més interessant que fer-ho en 1960, la data de la seva publicació. Reflexa el que era Venècia a mitjans del segle XX; una icona cultural i una destinació turística. El fet que en Jan Morris ha actualitzat l’obra fins a tres vegades (1974, 1983 i 1993) fa una mica borrosa la descripció de la ciutat més recent, perquè el lector no està segur si el relat fa referència a la Venècia de 1960 o a la de una generació i mitja després. L’autor parla en present quan els inversors duen el barret a la ma mentre estan als jutjats, o quan la gran compra setmanal de queviures es concentra un dia de la setmana en el supermercat. Potser és un avís que les lleus distorsions presents en el relat més recent augmenten, sense ser-ne conscients del tot, a mida que s’observa el passat més llunyà.

Venice és un llibre sobre la ciutat, la seva gent i la seva història; no és un llibre de viatges, i menys encara una guia. Però el coneixement que conté sobre la ciutat i les seves rodalies constitueixen una excel·lent base perquè el lector pugui pacientment construir-se un itinerari al seu gust, permetent-li visitar els llocs sabent què és el que veu.

L’autor ha viscut força temporades a Venècia (començant el 1945) i demostra una estimació real cap el lloc i els seus habitants ; combina l’erudició provinent dels llibres i d’antics relats de viatges amb el coneixement de la via social que només els oriünds que l'aprecien li poden explicar.

Es tracta d’un dens relat personal, de la ciutat vista pels seus ulls. La selecció dels llocs i fets rellevants segueix el criteri personal de l’autor, però poques vegades es sent a faltar una obra d’art o un fet històric. Pel llibre desfilen gondolers, anècdotes, duxs, gats, almiralls, esglésies, illes, palaus, episodis d’història de l’art i passavolants. Tots ben descrits i ben contextualitzats en la història de Venècia. Periòdicament Morris deixa anar un sentit de l’humor fi que estimula la lectura, encara que el to general es semblant al de Danubi, de Claudio Magris, o al de Roma de Robert Hughes. Essencialment son unes memòries personals elaborades a partir d'un coneixement i una estima profunda cap a la ciutat. La seva lectura paga la pena.

Es un bon llibre per llegir amb temps abans d’anar a Venècia, i també un cop s’hi ha tornat. Al món hi han poques ciutats amb canals, però cap amb tanta historia i obres d’art. La seva visita mereix llegir detingudament aquest llibre, prendre notes, ampliar la informació per poder gaudir plenament de l’estada.

I wanted to say I have finally just about finished reading Jan Morris' Venice and the one thing that struck me more strongly about it than any other impression, was how much it reminded me of Hemingway's Death in the Afternoon. Of course, Morris is frequently in the business of evocative, poetic prose, something Hemingway would never allow himself, but the everyday prose style is very similar. Also the way in which the subject is examined from a number of different points of view, not necessarily making a single complete story or narrative of it, but genuinely adding texture and layer of detail until the whole becomes a sort of onion, skin over skin over skin. Finally, both have the feeling of someone who has not entirely been drawn in, not lost her or his identity to the subject, but has definitely looked deeply into it and loves it dearly.

Tourists set great store by "authentic" experiences but the previous generation's were always more authentic. Jan Morris makes it clear that even sixties Venice was subject to crap that 19th century tourists wouldn't have had to put up with. Yet the city still exercises a powerful attraction for many. I don't think the charm of twisty, cobbled streets is simply to do with their appearance or their age; I think we bring additional cultural meaning and expectations with us when visiting such places, and when thinking about them. Particularly, I think places like Venice create a self-reflective frisson for us- I am here. It isn't, I don't think, purely an aesthetic experience- part of us is bound up personally in how we experience places like this. They seduce us with the weight of history, with their complexity, their own self-containedness. We thrill at becoming a small part of them, for a little while.

And then we go and get a coffee at Starbucks to recover.

Yes, the weight of time and history, and our being a small part of them, work on us, as much as the aesthetic. If I ever make it back to Venice (I went there last year on a cruise) it will almost certainly be as a dreaded tourist which is mostly about how much time you dispose of. Some places, like Venice, Machu Picchu, or the Great Wall were part of my imagination long before I ever got there in their own shadowy way.

For what it's worth I think Venice is closer to "Invisible Cities" or Borges than it is to a "Lonely Planet Guide."

This is a richly written book by a British journalist who lived in Venice for many years, a mixture of a history, a tourist guide and real life journalistic observations. This melange did not quite work for me, partly because the book was written in 1960, and re-edited in the 70s, 80s and early 90s, and it often wasn't clear in which decade the real life observations were made, and just when a recently observed event or curiosity had actually taken place. This said, I still enjoyed it, as Venice is such a fascinating place, a republic for over 1,000 years with the trappings and excesses of a monarchy or empire, with a stark juxtaposition of beauty and grotesque horror; the contrast between its vulnerability to its local environment, and the fact that this isolation was also its strength for so long and prevented it being successfully conquered until Napoleon breezed in in 1797 and ended over 1,000 years of independent existence. Yet it cannot be said that the Venetians resisted this takeover; the Republic had been declining for the last two centuries or more and the Grand Council prosaically voted for the dissolution of the state by 512 votes to 30, with 5 abstentions. The author also covers the other islands in the lagoon and the coastal area, shedding light on some little known places and isolated communities, distinct from the city itself. She clearly loves Venice, but also recognises the contradictions and appreciates why others have taken an instinctive dislike to it. Perhaps unselfconsciously, she writes "More slush has been written about Venice than anywhere else on earth, more acres of ecstatic maiden prose. Venice is paved with purple passages" - parts of this book are also like this, and perhaps this encapsulates the extremes of emotions that this most contradictory of cities can evoke.

Inexplicably (perhaps), this book was a big disappointment to me. Years ago, I added it to a TBR list that I still maintain, after seeing it recommended as one of The Guardian's top 100 NF books. The endorsement read: "An eccentric but learned guide to the great city's art, history, culture and people." When I had the chance recently to get a copy of The Folio Society's edition I jumped. It's a lovely book.

But it was laborious to read.

Not a narrative, the book doesn't present a coherent, cohesive view of this altogether unique community. I do not feel like I got from the book anecdotes or nuggets of history that I can share, say in a conversation. It didn't imbue me with enthusiasm for Venice. That surprises me, but having read it, I can't view it as anything but a disjointed compendium of disconnected factoids. I didn't find a unifying thread; it's just a heap.

Moreover, there's no index, so you can't look up place names or artwork, individuals or definitions.

Last year, I read John Berendt's [City of Falling Angels], which I liked very much (and to be fair, I point out that a number of my LT acquaintances hold a view of it opposite to mine). Yes, it compiled a scattering of topics and people, but it had a narrative drive to it. I enjoyed reading it. I could--and did--talk about it. My report on it is here: https://www.librarything.com/topic/189318#5153692

I want to grouse about the book's visuals. The Folio edition has dandy color photos scattered throughout, but none have captions or IDs, right there on the page. Here and there, I surmised a connection between a photo and the adjacent text. But why not make the connection unequivocal? Folio charged a lot for the book. Yes, I discovered a list of the photos with cryptic identifications, but it's in the front, following the Table of Contents. Not satisfactory to me.

If you do tackle Jan Morris' [Venice], keep access to Google Maps handy. The Folio edition has a map of the island city, but it was of spotty use; I often could not find what I was looking for. Google Maps showed me the entire realm known as Venice. When Morris wrote about Murano, Mestre, Choggio, or the barrier islands of the Lido that protect the Venetian lagoon from the sea, I could see where they were, and grasp the immense size of Venice. And you can google specific landmarks and have them pointed out for you.

Not as much fun as the first book in the trilogy. Nonetheless this is a fine picture of the British Empire at the time of Queen Victoria's jubilee in the late 19th century. Also, there is a good explanation regarding why the Empire could not last. Again, we see Gladstone, Disraeli, Lord Salisbury, etc. This shows the white colonies such as Canada, Australia, and New Zealand identified with Great Britain but would not fiancé the British Navy. Some Brits truly had the imperial attitude:

It is with nations as with men ---
One must be first, we are the mightiest,
The heirs of Rome.
By John Davidson

Or the British attitude to native subjects:

Whatever happens we have got
The Maxim gun and they have not!

Then there is the reminder by Kipling in Recessional in 1897:

Far called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire;
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget---lest we forget!

This book grew on me I have to admit. The enthusiasm was recognisable but the place - not always.

This a good first book dealing with the complexities of that curious construction "the Empiah". Perhaps one should also read "King -of the Khyber Rifles" or the Memoirs of John Masters at the same time. But it's smooth and a polished presentation.½

Second part of Morris's British empire trilogy, providing a survey of Britain's overseas possessions at the high point of "new imperialism", Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee of 1897. Like the first part, it's a very lively read, full of colour and anecdote, and occasionally quite satirical, but the analysis is mostly rather indirect. We're allowed to work out for ourselves that empire may have been a good thing for a few middle-class investors and provided useful employment for the sons of the indigent upper classes, but it didn't usually do much good for the people of the countries Britain tried to rule, or indeed for the great mass of the working classes back home.

Very readable survey history.

His command of the English language is second to none, his dry humour which leaves you to decide what is and what is not funny is unique. I rate him one of the greatest writers of the 20thC. Now that I have finished all three volumes I can say that this was a great read enhanced immeasurably by his wry footnotes.

This is the first book I've read by this famous travel writer. One thing about Morris, is that she is very thorough. Of course, it's readily apparent that she lived in Venice for an extended time, as opposed to visiting for a couple of weeks, so she had time to explore it and experience it thoroughly. The next thing that is apparent is that Morris is opinionated. It's obvious that she loves Venice, but she knows it well enough to pick out the flaws of the city and it's people. I don't always agree with her opinions - she can be a little harsh - but I cannot say that her opinions are baseless. The structure of the book is similar to the Silent Traveler. There is not much of a narrative, but compartmentalized chapters on a certain aspect, which act as launching boards for a reverie, or a memory, or a history lesson. If there is one thing I can say about this book it is that I'm dying to go to Venice all the more now that I've read it.

This trilogy of books about the British Empire was written thirty years ago, and the author’s methods and views are now completely unfashionable in academia and discredited by the resenters of post colonial (pseudo) theory.

Morris’s mission is to capture the aesthetic of empire, and this he certainly does. The whole conception of the book is deeply artistic, the three volumes standing in relation to one another as a triptych. The first volume describes in a vaguely chronological fashion the gaining of the Empire, from the dilettante beginnings of the East India Company to the increased professionalism and hardening of attitudes after the Indian Mutiny in 1857, to Victoria’s Jubilee in 1897. The second volume is an in-depth look at all aspects of the Empire at the climacteric of the Jubilee, taking in the structure, the life, the technology, the art, the wars and the attitudes towards Empire: a vertical slice right through the heart of Empire. The third volume takes us back to a chronology of the decline of the Empire, from the jubilee to Churchill’s death in 1965, a few years before the start of the writing...

Read the full review on The Lectern:

http://thelectern.blogspot.com/2007/08/pax-britannica-trilogy-james-morris.html

Read Murr's review on The Lectern:

http://thelectern.blogspot.com/2007/08/pax-britannica-trilogy-james-morris.html

The conclusion to the best survey of the British Empire that I have ever read.

Read 2015.